


Lily

by hidethemoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Kinda?, M/M, Post-Hogwarts AU, not a slow burn because i'm impatient, we love and respect fluff in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidethemoon/pseuds/hidethemoon
Summary: Harry, uncertain with his direction in life after the war, opens a bakery. After immense success, Harry decides he needs to hire some help. Harry/Draco.





	Lily

**Author's Note:**

> Finally cross-posting from my FF after seven billion years. I tweaked it a good bit and now it's ao3 ready. It's a simple and light-hearted story that I regurgitated a few years ago and I still like it alright so it's worth posting here. Enjoy my dumb fluff posting :')

Harry hadn't intended to blow his money on the little shop in Diagon Alley, but he'd taken one look at the place and woke up the next morning with a lighter bank account. The shop was an antique ivy-covered red brick building squeezed between a seedy law firm and what appeared to be a cosmetics shop, if the bright posters of red-lipped winking witches was anything to go by. The windows of the old building had even been boarded up, which in Harry's opinion was a bit much. It needed a little care, but Harry had immediately fallen in love with the place, and he decided he loved the idea of a demanding project that didn't require him to be dodging curses. It had taken him some time to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with the old place. The place collected dust for a few more weeks after the sale closed and the realtor scampered off with his galleons.

The solution finally struck him as he watched his friends tucking gleefully into one of his latest baking creations. After that, he admitted to them that he'd bought the store, and what he planned to do.

Hermione had been thrilled at the idea of him doing something so productive with his time and money. Ron was happy he could grab some of Harry's cookies whenever he liked, though Hermione made sure Ron knew he would be paying for them.

It was an ideal venture, Harry thought. He had made up his mind shortly after the war that he would not become an Auror after all. He couldn't handle chasing after people anymore. The very thought of it tired him to the bone, and made him itch for something more, something better. Ron had been a little disappointed, but ultimately ended up venturing into a different career path himself. Now, every time they visited him, Harry was regaled with stories of the latest disasters in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He loved it, honestly—Ron was happy, and the stories were great, and Harry could hound out the latest Quidditch news straight from the source.

And Harry, too, would be happy with his new business. As much as he disliked the fact, his name would bring in enough revenue to keep the business flourishing for a long while. He hoped, however, that his baking skills would help the shop excel as well. Harry knew very well that he was an excellent baker. All those years trying to make the Dursleys' happy had paid off in the long run, and Harry supposed he had at least one thing to thank them for.

Perhaps it was an unconventional way of living out his life. Much of wizarding society seemed to think so, especially those who had been bidding on his Auror career. Shacklebolt in particular had mourned the loss of such a powerful addition to the ranks. But Harry was happy, would be happier, and that wasn't unconventional at all to him. With his formative years being spent fighting for his life, Harry wanted nothing more than to spend the remainder as he pleased.

With a smile, Harry surveyed the results of his hard work. He had been working on restoring the old shop for a few weeks now and it was finally complete. Magic went a long way when clearing out dust and dirt and old bits and pieces, and he'd had the hard parts done within a few days. The ugly, ragged yellow wallpaper was stripped and the walls smoothed and painted anew. They were now a lovely cream color, with the back sporting a beautiful mural in soft greens and golds that Harry had hired Luna to paint. The shop was furnished with matching dark cherry wood tables and chairs, each chair adorned with a green cushion. Gold vases had been set out on various surfaces, stuffed to bursting with gorgeous, fragrant flowers. The flowers were never-wilting and charmed to change color to his fancy each day. The displays he had set up for his goods were, of course, currently empty. His smile widened as he envisioned them full of cakes, tarts, and puddings.

It was absolutely perfect.

-:-

He named it Lily.

He had mulled over every name under the sun for days, even asking his friends to help him come up with something fitting for his new bakery. Ron was absolutely no help, as he insisted Harry just call it 'The Bakery' and be done with it. Hermione suggested he name it 'Potter's Patisserie' or something similar, after himself, much like the other shops in Diagon Alley were named after their founders. Harry, however, had scrapped that idea as well. He needed something more personal.

He decided to take a hint from trends in the Muggle world and name his shop a pleasing and eye-catching noun. With that idea in mind he then, finally, had settled on his mother's name.

A flower certainly fit the delicate sensibilities of a bakery, he thought. He switched a few of the paintings to depictions of lilies and rearranged some of the vases so they contained more of the lovely flower. Harry liked their smooth, floral scent (he had cast a subtle charm on them to strengthen their perfume), and they served to put the final touches on his bakery.

He opened the very next day.

It was busy, and tiring, and full of customers and flying trays of treacle tarts and getting flour _everywhere, _but Harry was so, so happy. He collapsed into a green-cushioned chair at closing, and still felt as if he might burst from joy. The broad grin he had been sporting all day had relaxed into a contented smile, and he wiped some flour from his hands onto his apron and surveyed the shop.

There were a few leftover dishes to pick up and send to the self-cleaning kitchen sink (Hermione's charm work, bless her), and the floor needed to be swept. He absently flicked his wand at the broom in the corner and it jumped to work, skillfully sweeping under every table and chair. He watched it silently, contentedly, and sighed.

He had never felt so proud of anything he had ever done in his life. Even when Voldemort had collapsed into dust before him, he hadn't been this proud. Back then, he had felt mostly numb all over. Maybe relieved, but there was no pride. Everyone told him he should feel proud as they clapped him on the shoulder. He'd defeated a dark lord and saved the world, and _god damn_ he should be proud and his parents would be proud. But he didn't feel any of that.

_This, _he realized, was what pride felt like—genuine pride in something he had accomplished.

He scratched absently at the thin stubble peppering his jaw and stood, stretching his long body until he felt a few good bones pop. He eyed the display case, and again flicked his wand so that the remaining goods began to box themselves up in little white takeout boxes. He only had a few cupcakes, tarts, and a small personal carrot cake left, but he would send them all to the Weasley's. He refused to re-serve food from the day before, nor did he like to trash perfectly good food, and he knew his sweets wouldn't go to waste where they were going.

He snagged a simple chocolate and raspberry cupcake from one box as an afterthought and bit into it with a delighted groan. He rarely indulged in his own baking, preferring to bake for others, but he felt he deserved a small something after a full and successful first day of business. He grabbed the two to-go boxes and exited the shop, locking the door behind himself and checking the wards.

Satisfied, he began to walk to George's shop, hoping to catch him there so they could stop by Molly's together.

George had at first stayed alone in the apartment above Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes most nights, avoiding all company. Harry guessed he was sleeping in Fred's bed, crying himself to sleep. It was what he would do, if he had lost a twin brother. It's what he had done when he lost Sirius, but George's loss was so much more raw and horrible than losing a godfather he'd known for two years. Harry understood, however, and he never pressured George to do anything else.

In the past month, much to everyone's delight, George had finally begun to emerge from his home, visiting his family more and even staying a few nights. Harry had gotten much closer to him ever since, due to their new mutual career paths, and he thought maybe George was grateful for company that could keep his mind off of his brother. George had always been the more business-minded of the twins, and having someone to talk to about it brought him out of his shell that much more.

The sun had set long ago, for which Harry was secretly delighted. He loved the little fairy lights in Diagon that zoomed around people's heads at night like quick little stars. Most magical folk simply ignored them, being so used to a world with magic that they hardly stopped to appreciate any of it. Harry didn't think he would ever grow tired of the lights, or any of the beautiful and charming enchantments that existed in the magical world just for the sake of existing.

He made it to George's within a few minutes. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was only one street over from Lily's, and though the lights were still on, Harry knew it to be closed to customers.

He peeked through the glass door of the shop to see if George was still lingering around downstairs. The red-head was nowhere in sight, so Harry traipsed to the side of the building to the nondescript brown door. He rang the doorbell, hearing the loud clang of it even from where he was standing, and waited for George to emerge.

The door opened abruptly and Harry was greeted with a warm hug, which he gladly returned.

"Harry! How was your first day? Come in and tell me all about it," George said excitedly, practically dragging Harry into the apartment by his wrist. They climbed the stairs while Harry launched into the details of his day.

"There were tons of customers, more than I actually expected. I guess I should have known, you know, everyone wanted to get in on Harry Potter's first day of business. It was insane, they were even lined up outside. I actually had to chase some people off at closing time. I felt a little bad about that, but I have to keep to my business hours or else they'll be walking all over me."

"Right, right. Have fun, though?"

"Absolutely."

"I can tell," George said with a small smile as he took a seat at his dining room table. "You're practically glowing. I know mum was worried but I can tell you're really enjoying yourself."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Never thought I'd be running a bakery at any point when I was in school, but…you know, I didn't really get to think much about what I'd like to do after it all. It was always someone else suggesting what I'd be good at, because my parents were good at it. Never about me, you know?"

George huffed a laugh. "Well, looks like baking pies for old ladies is it for you. Let's take these bits over to mum's." He tapped one of the white boxes with a slightly more upbeat smile. "I'm sure Ron is dying to get his hands on your leftovers. What say you?"

Harry laughed. He was gonna have to beat Ron off of most of the sweets so that everyone else could have something.

"Yeah, let's go."

-:-

It had been almost a month since he opened Lily's, and business was booming. Harry was actually convinced that the numbers were higher than they'd ever been. He found himself run ragged at the end of each day, barely able to pour himself into bed. Though he was still thoroughly satisfied with his business, he eventually decided that he couldn't continue working on his own like this.

He needed to hire some help.

He contemplated hiring a house elf to help out in the kitchens, but quickly scrapped the idea. Hermione would probably scalp him, for one, and working alongside a house elf would just remind him too much of Dobby. His chest still seized up at the thought of his old friend. No, a house elf wouldn't do for him.

Instead, he posted an ad in the Prophet and pasted a 'Help Wanted' sign in his storefront. It didn't take long before he was up to his neck in applications for the position. The populace was practically foaming at the mouth for the chance to work alongside the great and famous Harry Potter. It didn't matter that it was a simple bakery job, as a store clerk no less. His name alone was enough to lend prestige to the position. He didn't doubt that anyone hired by him would be able to get a job anywhere they liked afterward.

With a sigh, Harry set yet another application on the teetering stack behind the counter as the hopeful girl scampered back outside. She was enthusiastic enough, but far too young, and seemed a little too distracted by him already. He quickly scribbled an orange dot on the top of her application with a marker he kept under the register for just such a purpose.

The applications were all color-coded, with potentials being marked with a blue dot. All others were orange, and would likely not be given a second glance. He had Hermione to thank for the organizational stroke of genius after she took pity on him wading through page after page of hopeful applicants. He only had a scant pile of blues, and planned to look through them tonight and make his final choice.

For now, the ever-growing line of customers was calling to his attention. His new employee would have to be a people person, he thought absently.

The woman at the register quickly shuffled away from the counter once Harry had finished ringing her up, happy with her box of assorted truffles, and the next stepped forward. Harry had just glanced down to make sure his supply of treacle tarts were still holding up when a cleared throat and a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Potter."

His head snapped up so fast that he heard a very distinct crack accompanied by a small stinging pain in his neck.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

He knew it was a dumb question the second it left his mouth, but he couldn't take it back. Malfoy simply drew his mouth into a thin line and raised a fine eyebrow.

"I-I…mean, it's been a while, is what I meant to say."

Malfoy scoffed softly. "Indeed. As for what I'm doing here, I'd like to try one of your...your apple pasties. I've heard they're very good." He hesitated for a second, his forehead wrinkling up in a clear expression of discomfort. "And…I also came here to apply for the job," he breathed out, almost at once and too fast. The tips of his ears were bright red.

Harry blinked. "Oh, um…yeah, okay." He hadn't expected the last bit. He hadn't expected Malfoy to ever be at his bakery at all. He shook his head vaguely to clear it and pulled himself back together. It was only Malfoy, and he had customers waiting. Harry handed him a blank application.

"Okay, here. Just fill this out and bring it back."

Malfoy gingerly accepted the application that Harry handed to him as though it would bite him. He bit his lip and his eyes darted over to the display case. "The apple pasty?" He prompted impatiently, and Harry flushed.

"Oh, right. Um, here, try this one." Harry reached into the display and grabbed two pasties from the batch he finished during his lunch break. "They're apple and brie."

Malfoy just nodded jerkily. Harry quickly boxed the pasties and practically shoved them across the counter to Malfoy. He paid silently and stalked off to the only deserted corner of the store to presumably fill out his application while he ate.

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye as he served his remaining customers. Harry watched Malfoy bite into the pasty first, but not before he glanced around furtively to see if anyone was watching him and wondering why he was showing his face in public. No one paid him any mind, and the tense line of his shoulders visibly relaxed.

He took a bite of the pasty first, and his eyes slid closed in bliss. The pasties had a gentle warming charm on them, one Molly had taught him, that would keep them crisp and just hot enough without going soggy. Harry found himself smiling as he handed a couple their order of raspberry-lemon scones. Even Malfoy seemed happy with his baking. He considered that quite an accomplishment, and mentally patted himself on the back.

The pasties were finished quickly, and Harry watched as Malfoy hesitantly began to fill out the application. It took him a while, and he kept glancing at Harry, who would pretend to be busy.

As the blonde sat, Harry slowly began to take in his appearance. His coat appeared a simple sleek black wool at first glance, Malfoy's usual high-end attire. However, Harry quickly noticed that the dark color camouflaged its tatty appearance. It was an old coat, something a younger Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead in. His hair was loose, perhaps unkempt for Malfoy's standards, but it suited the sharp lines of his face more, softened them. His boots were scuffed and dirty, his trousers too loose. His skeletal fingers were gripping the quill he had conjured as though it were a lifeline. Harry noticed the gaunt lines of his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the cracked lips. Malfoy wasn't supposed to look like this. He looked tired, ragged, as though he'd been dragged through hell and brought back just to be spit upon. Something distant and soft tugged at Harry's heart, but he quickly squashed it in favor of doling out the last of his lemon pie slices to a group of young girls who giggled far too much at him.

He now knew that Malfoy wasn't doing very well after the war. Harry had known most of the Death Eaters had been convicted and put into Azkaban for life, including Malfoy's father. Narcissa had scraped by because of what she had done for Harry. He had personally testified at her trial, and also Draco's.

Narcissa had wanted to keep her son safe more than anything. He understood that sentiment all too much. He still sincerely hoped she was doing alright. After what she had done for him, Harry had developed both a sense of respect and admiration for the woman, and he tried to fulfill his debt to her as much as he could. The Ministry had planned to banish both of the Malfoy's from Britain, but Harry had pulled some strings and managed to void that punishment for them. Instead, the Malfoy Manor was signed off as government property and subsequently raided and then abandoned. It seemed the Ministry was too afraid to do anything else with the manor that Voldemort himself had reigned in for a year. The remaining two Malfoy's had had to seek refuge elsewhere, and that was the last Harry had heard from them.

Until now, at least. His head snapped up once again when a finished application was waved in his face. He took it with a small flush staining his cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught in his thoughts. About Malfoy, no less. He hoped the other man couldn't tell.

Malfoy pursed his lips at him, still clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Harry wondered how poorly Malfoy was doing if he had come to ask Harry for a job at a bakery, but he didn't dare voice that thought aloud. Instead, he mumbled a quiet thank you and placed the application on top of the stack.

Malfoy tilted his head at Harry, regarding him with a sharp eye. After a few seconds, he said, "The pasties were pretty good, Potter. Maybe this is where you belong after all." The words were quiet, but even. There was no malice, no mocking tone to them. Harry smiled genuinely.

"Thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

Malfoy dipped his head in acknowledgment before quickly striding from the bakery. He didn't look back.

Harry's eyes strayed to the freshly completed application. After a few moments, he slowly picked up a marker and colored in a blue dot on the top of the paper.

-:-

Harry re-shuffled the small pile of applications, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Even stacked on top of one another, he could pick out Malfoy's paper. One of its corners had gotten scuffed somehow, and the significant crease it caused was burning into Harry's eyes. Perhaps it was some sort of sign. He scoffed at himself.

Pulling the application out once again, he gave it a cursory glance despite knowing almost by heart what was written on the paper.

The handwriting was just as he remembered it from the many scathing, sometimes vaguely threatening notes Malfoy would charm to fly into his hair when a professor had their back turned. The tight lines and looping 'l's' were so familiar that he felt his chest ache with what he recognized as nostalgia. He ran a hand over his face and despaired. It had hardly been a year out of school, a year since the war, and he was already reminiscing about Malfoy, of all people.

He supposed it wasn't entirely absurd. The war had changed him rather significantly after all, especially now that he had time to reflect on himself and not worry when he or his friends might next have their lives threatened. The war had apparently changed Malfoy as well. He had crawled to Harry asking for a job, something Harry would have delighted in holding over Malfoy's head years ago. Now, it made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He almost pitied Malfoy, but quickly shook that emotion away. Malfoy would hate Harry's pity, and despise him all the more for it.

Instead, he decided to turn that almost-pity into something more useful to the both of them.

With a heavy sigh he placed Malfoy's application back down and summoned some parchment and a quill. He quickly penned up a letter to Malfoy, stating that he had gotten the job and detailing when he would start and what to expect. Before he could change his mind, he sealed it and handed it over to Gilly.

"Here, girl. Take this to Draco Malfoy, would you please?"

The young spectacled owl bobbed her head briefly in agreement, waiting until Harry had finished tying the letter to her leg before taking off out of the open kitchen window. He watched her go, allowing himself to feel the acute pangs of sadness in his gut. Hedwig was irreplaceable, of course, but he had needed an owl, especially once his business took off. It had almost been too much for him to own another owl. Hermione had gone with him when he went to pick out a new one, and had squeezed his hand briefly in understanding when he avoided the cluster of snowy owls altogether. A dark brown owl with a shock of yellow on her belly had caught his attention, and he wandered over to a silent, observant little spectacled owl. He knew then that she would be his new owl, and he affectionately named her Gilly and took her home with him.

Gilly was sweet enough, but what he loved most was her monolithic silence and absurd level of intelligence. He felt a little bad naming her something as silly as Gilly, but the contrast in her name and personality delighted him and he refused to change her name. She hardly seemed to mind.

He avoided worrying about Malfoy's response to his letter. It would be better to cross that bridge when he got to it. Harry would have a hard enough time convincing Malfoy he hadn't given him the job out of a misplaced sense of pity or as some sort of revenge. He honestly didn't intend to torture the man, and he knew it was humiliating enough for Malfoy that Harry was going to be his boss. He'd have to tread carefully. Malfoy had come to him out of desperation, or he wouldn't have come at all. Harry figured he still had some vestiges of a savior complex, and he'd have to keep that from showing around Malfoy at all costs or the man would feel humiliated.

Harry suddenly groaned loudly. He had completely forgotten about his friends. They would eventually find out that he had hired Malfoy, of all people, and they would certainly give him hell for it. Ron, especially, would not take it well. That particular confrontation couldn't be put off forever, but Harry wasn't about to deal with it now. He had to bag Malfoy first.

"Like catching lightning in a bottle," he muttered darkly

It was late, and he was tired. He didn't want to think any longer. He could already feel the small headache budding behind his eyes, a vague throb that threatened to expand into an all-out head pounding migraine if he kept stressing himself out.

He quickly shucked off his robe and climbed into bed, letting the cool bedsheets engulf his body. Everything else could wait. For now, he desperately wanted to sleep.

-:-

Malfoy stalked through Lily's white double doors at nine sharp. His clothes were soaked from the downpour outside, and his normally bright blonde hair was dull and clinging wetly to his cheeks. Harry was careful to keep his gaze neutral.

"You're not due to start until Monday, Malfoy," he quipped.

The blonde's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why?" He stalked closer, ignoring the bemused customers that were staring him down. Today, he didn't seem to care if he was noticed. "Why? Is it pity? Does the great Harry Potter actually pity _me? _Is he offering the Death Eater a job to get him back on his feet?" His lip quirked up in a familiar sneer, but Harry quickly cut him off.

"You filled out an application, which to my understanding means that you wished to be employed here. I gave you the job."

Malfoy's face tightened and he snarled. "Surely there were others more qualified than someone who hasn't had a single job since graduating? No appropriate references, no experience in the wizarding world, no _nothing_?"

"Actually, no. Most of them were too young and likely would have been too…distracted to be of any help. I know you won't be like that. Most of them weren't exactly qualified either. But they just want to work with Harry Potter. You...you're exactly what I need."

Malfoy glowered at him a little longer, his jaw working tightly, but it took him a moment to find any words. "It can't be that hard to qualify to work at a bakery."

Harry smiled. "No, not terribly. But you'd be surprised. And you'll keep the business on its toes, I'm sure. Like now. You're doing a great job of keeping my customers interested."

Malfoy turned bright pink and whipped around, eyeing all the patrons that were staring. He turned back to Harry, mortified, but swallowed and smoothed his face out until it was as smooth as glass. "I apologize for causing a scene. I'll be going now." He turned to leave.

"Monday!" Harry called after him. Malfoy twitched and swept out of the shop.

When Monday did finally roll around, Harry was convinced that Malfoy wouldn't show, and he'd be forced to pick from one of the other applicants that he had discarded. To his surprise, however, Malfoy was waiting for him at the door when he showed up to open on Monday morning. He was fingering the deep, pretty red brick of the shop's exterior, clearly lost in thought. He caught sight of Harry and seemed to fidget even more, avoiding looking at Harry directly.

"I'm glad you decided to take the job, Draco. I could really use the help here. I swear business has doubled since I opened."

Draco's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. He hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words. "Draco?" he finally inquired.

"Ah, yes, well, if we're to be working together I figured it was time I at least starting referring to your by your first name. That's alright, isn't it?" Harry asked. He had thought it would be better to call Draco by his first name, and that perhaps it would ultimately help him figure out a dynamic with the man if he could separate _Malfoy _from _Draco._

Draco nodded shortly. "Yes, that's fine…Harry."

Harry beamed. "See? It's not so bad. Now, let me just…"

He drew his wand from his pocket and quickly set about adjusting the ward locks for the day. The wards were set so that when the shop was closed, only Harry could re-enter or even exit. Anyone else would be considered an intruder and forcibly thrown from the wards, along with earning hundreds of painful little boils that would pop then reform repeatedly. He would also be notified immediately. During shop hours, the wards were readjusted so people were free to come and go—it wouldn't do to have the intruder treatment given to his customers, after all. There were also anti-theft wards to prevent customers with sticky fingers. Harry briefly thought about keying Draco into the wards along with him, but decided it would be better to wait until Draco proved he was both trustworthy and wouldn't quit on Harry any time soon. There had been too many years of rivalry, fighting, and bad memories for Harry to automatically trust Draco with something as precious as Lily.

"Come on in, I'll get you prepped for the day."

Draco followed him, apprehension clear in the taut lines around his eyes and mouth. At Hogwarts, Draco's skin was always so smooth and wrinkle-free. No doubt he'd had scores of expensive products keeping his skin so luminous and beautiful. Lucius and Narcissa had also always sported clear, smooth skin, despite being much older. The fine lines on Draco's face were a sign of how far he had fallen. Stress had aged him too quickly.

Harry frowned and quickly pushed those thoughts away so that he could focus on training Draco. _No pity_, he quietly reminded himself.

-:-

"Pumpkin bread!" Harry called out, levitating the loaves through the kitchen door.

"I've got them," Draco replied, snatching the tray from the air and quickly arranging the shining loaves in the display.

Harry had been experimenting a little with his baking now that he had more time to do so during work hours. His "improved" pumpkin bread had proven to be a big hit with the autumn crowd, and he had been forced to make a second batch that day by popular demand. He didn't mind. Knowing that people loved his creations so much filled Harry with an immense sense of pride.

Draco had been working at Lily for a month now. Contrary to Harry's initial expectations, Draco was an excellent worker. He was never too prideful to do the most menial of tasks, and he interacted with the customers with the same simple geniality day after day.

Draco had thrown himself into the work—he had so little else to work for, perhaps, that he at least wanted to do this right. Harry entrusted him with a job, gave him the benefit of the doubt when no one else had. Even if Malfoy was someone he had hated whilst growing up, he _had _grown up. He was proving it every day.

Harry found out (not easily, mind you) that Draco had been turned away from job after job after graduating Hogwarts. His reputation in ruins, his family name crumbled, all his dignity and pride and riches stripped away. His father was in Azkaban, his mother locked away in a shoddy Muggle apartment because it was all they could afford. Not to mention, no wizard landlords would rent to former Death Eaters, no matter how Harry Potter had vouched for them. At first he had had too much pride to take a Muggle job, but the little money they'd kept after the war dwindled quickly and Draco got desperate. He had been working at a Muggle diner for seven months before he applied for the job at Harry's bakery. He hoped, with time, he could rebuild their name in the wizarding world and buy his mother a more respectable home. He hated the peeling paint of their apartment, the rickety stairs and the mice in the walls. After all his mother had been through, for _him_, she deserved better. He vowed to make it better.

He was learning quite a lot too. Some things about baking, such as how much flour went into a really good chocolate chip recipe, and some things about running a small business. But mostly, he was learning about about Harry.

Draco had been surprised that it was Harry who owned the bakery that had posted the help wanted ad. Then, Draco had been suitably suspicious of Harry's motives for hiring him, despite having applied for the job in the first place. He had been so desperate to regain his footing in the wizarding world that even working at a fucking bakery was better than nothing, even if that bakery was owned and ran by Harry Potter himself. Despite his misgivings, Draco gave in and took the job, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't just a new way to humiliate him. Draco figured he would have earned the humiliation, honestly, considering what he and done and the way he treated Harry in the past. Not that Harry's retaliation was any better, mind, but he knew where he'd made his mistakes.

Draco, and everybody else, had been so sure Harry would move on after Hogwarts to do grand things with his title and fame. Maybe be an Auror for a few years before climbing the ranks to the top, or eventually run for Minister. Get married, pop out some children, create a legacy of boisterous Potters as they were wont to do. Opening a bakery was…not that.

But as Draco watched Harry knead some crushed almonds into a batch of dough, he couldn't see anything else for Harry. His once-enemy looked so content, with flour on his cheeks and in his hair. Even Draco's constant presence hadn't bothered him beyond the initial awkwardness of that first day. Without the looming threat of Voldemort and death biting at his heels, Harry was clearly much less stressed out all the time. He'd had time to think about what he wanted, and he went for it. Draco had not been given the same luxury, because he'd made the wrong choices. Now he was paying for it, no matter how pressured he'd been by his father. He'd made the choice anyway.

He bit back the envy licking at his injured heart and turned away to ring up the next customer.

Fortunately, not every customer recognized him. Unfortunately, quite a few did. At first there had been suspicious stares, more than a few scenes, and some people had even drawn their wands on him. Harry's constant interventions that first week rankled him, but there was nothing to be done. He couldn't retaliate, and he certainly couldn't say the things he wanted to say to the wizards who sneered at him over their scones. He should count himself lucky, really. He could have it so much worse. It had been so much worse. He just wished he didn't need Harry to protect him all the time.

Of course, Draco would gladly look down the nose of every wand aimed at him by customers than relive Harry's gaggle of friends finding out about him.

Hermione had been surprisingly cool about it, only asking Harry if he was sure he knew what he was doing. After a sharp scowl from Harry, Hermione offered him a mysterious smile and remained silent. The weasel, however, exploded.

Harry had clearly given up on his old rivalries, but Ron was about as thick-headed as they came, and stubborn to boot. He refused to believe Draco wasn't up to anything suspicious (perhaps poisoning the goods) and had even been so drastic as to boycott Harry's food for two weeks. Impressive, actually, considering just how much of Harry's food he ate on a given day. Ginny had hardly fared better than her brother, but she hadn't stopped sneaking Harry's leftover peanut butter cookies into her big mouth. Lovegood, Longbottom, and the other scattered few that had remained at Harry's side after everything accepted him with the same grace that they had accepted all of Harry's projects.

He didn't know what that said about him, and didn't let himself think about it.

Luckily, Harry's crew rarely visited the shop itself, so Draco didn't have to bear their scrutiny much. Harry often took the leftovers to the Weasley's home each night, a ritual Draco had obviously not been invited to participate in, not that he was complaining. Recently, however, Harry had also begun to force Draco into taking some of the leftovers home as well. Draco despised taking them, but he was also secretly grateful. He could really only afford the most basic of foodstuffs for his mother and himself, and they were never able to indulge in sweets or anything of the sort. The first night he brought home some treacle tarts and pear-and-apple pasties, his mother, whom he had not explicitly told about his new job, was instantly suspicious.

"Where did you get these, Drake?" Narcissa asked quietly, peering into the simple white box at the treats within.

"Someone gave them to me, mum," Draco answered just as quietly as he hung his scarf up on the nail by the door. They spoke in hushed tones at home, as though the walls would crumble if they raised their voices any higher.

"Who?"

Draco swallowed, pinned under his mother's suspicious stare. He could never lie to her, not any more. Not after everything.

"I...Harry Potter, mum. He made me take them."

"Potter? That's...why?" Her upper lip curled slightly. Draco knew what she was thinking. Though he knew his mum was quietly grateful for Harry's help after the war, she could never stand pity from anyone, especially not as they were now. His mother's innate Black pride had never wavered, even now.

"No..." he paused, hesitant. His mother had been hoping for so long that he would worm his way back into the wizarding world (she certainly had no hope of doing so) that he was almost ashamed to tell her now how he had found his foothold. It seemed pitiful. Humiliating. He couldn't image she would be pleased. "I got a job. At Harry's new bakery he just opened. He was hiring and...he gave me the job."

"Harry now, is it?" Narcissa questioned lightly, but there was no bite to her tone. Her eyes were calculating. "A bakery...how quaint. I guess little else would please that boy better than baking for those ungrateful bastards all day like a house elf." Though the words were scathing, her tone was almost warm. Draco was confused.

"Ahh, well. That's wonderful news, dear. I know your days of prestigious jobs are long past. We mustn't dwell on what could have been. I am...I'm more than proud of you, Drake." She paused, her eyes shining. Draco was still getting used to her ready displays of emotion these days, after years of her carefully hiding it all from Lucius, and then Voldemort. He knew she meant it, then. She was proud of him. "Besides," she continued with a breathless, humorless laugh, "Potter isn't the worst person you could work beneath. Perhaps working alongside him can bring our name back from the shadows."

"I hope so," Draco murmured. "The pay is better than...than what we're used to, but I hope to...you know I want to get you out of here. I want to move you into a nicer place, mum. I promise you, I will. This is the first step."

Narcissa glanced around their small kitchen with a wry smile. "It wouldn't be so bad if we could use magic to fix some things up but…," she sighed and turned back to her son. "Just don't over-work yourself for the minimum wage, dear. I won't have it."

Draco laughed, but it too was humorless, the dingy walls sucking it away. He dearly wished he could erase the sadness from his mother's eyes. They lived as Muggles now, as even their wands had been restricted to ridiculous degrees. They could only perform a handful of basic "harmless, Ministry-approved" spells, and the number of uses was limited throughout a week-long period. They conserved their magic as best they could, and had quickly become used to the manual labor required of living Muggle. Draco sometimes found peace in the monotony of it all, but he knew his mother languished in this place.

He watched as his mother looked back into the box, carefully picking up one of Harry's best-sellers. Treacle tarts were one of Harry's personal favorites, and his own recipe had been perfected over the course of a year. Draco had snuck a piece into his mouth after a particularly slow evening and nearly died on the spot. He had eaten café liégeois in the decadence of Paris, encrusted with one thousand galleons worth of edible gold flakes, and he would trade that luxury for a slice of Harry's treacle tart in a heartbeat. He smiled slightly as his mother eyed the sweet curiously before daintily scooping up a piece with a spoon and eating it.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked up at Draco, who was smiling slyly. "Good, isn't it?"

Narcissa hummed in agreement, a wry smile twisting on her mouth. "It is. Maybe this is his calling after all. Are they all so good?"

"Yes, I've gotten to try almost all of them. He uses me as a test subject now, not that I'm complaining. They're all just as good, though his pasties are my favorite. Try that one."

Narcissa nibbled delicately on the corner of one of the apple-and-pears, and Draco smiled softly as her eyes closed in delight. His mother rarely had such an occasion to indulge any more, and he was happy to see her enjoying herself.

After eating nearly half the pasty, Narcissa suddenly turned back to him with a sly smile and a glint in her eye that made Draco a little uneasy. "Why don't I accompany you to work one day? Just a visit. I'd love to see for myself how Potter has been doing lately."

"I…" Draco paused. This couldn't be good. "Why?"

Narcissa smiled indulgently. "Am I not allowed to visit with the boy whose life I saved and patronize his business? Besides, I would love to get some fresh air, see where you work...do you not want me there, Drake?"

He knew exactly what she was doing, with the sad lilt to her mouth and pitiable expression, but he found he couldn't refuse her. Even if he did, his mother would find another way to get whatever it was she wanted. He decided to make it easier on himself. With a great, heaving sigh he agreed to her request. "Fine, mother, you're welcome to accompany me to work one day if you so desire. Which day would work best for you?"

Her sly smile deepened. "How about tomorrow?"

Draco groaned.

-:-

Harry arrived at Lily early that Thursday. He had a weekend order for a wedding that he wanted to get started on. He didn't usually do any sort of outside gigs, since it was far too much work piled on top of his business, but Dennis Creevey had asked him personally for the cake and Harry still felt horribly guilty over Colin's death, so he had agreed. He had never tried to make a wedding cake before either, and couldn't help but look forward to the challenge.

He had just finished perusing the details of the order again when the little bell jingled over the door. He glanced up, brow furrowed. Draco wasn't due in for another thirty minutes, and the shop would still appear closed to customers for another hour. Draco strode through the door with a stiffened spine and tight mouth, and Harry immediately spotted the reason. Narcissa Malfoy trailed in behind him, still managing to look elegant and refined in a worn charcoal robe. Draco clearly got his pale complexion from Narcissa; Harry had seen enough of Lucius up close to remember the man leaned more towards the waxy, sallow skin that Snape had had. He quickly straightened up from his slouched position over Dennis's order, brushing off some of the flour that was _always_ on his clothes.

"Mrs. Malfoy! What a pleasant surprise. I had no idea Draco was bringing you by today." Draco pinned him with a small glare and Harry realized that the poor man didn't realize he would be bringing his mother either. He smiled, amused despite himself, and Draco's scowl deepened.

"Yes, my son would never have found the manners to invite me himself, so I did it for him. He finally informed me about his place of employment and, naturally, I wished to stop by for a visit and see how you were faring. Now isn't a bad time, is it?" she asked, eyeing the order form. Harry stuffed it out of sight.

"No, not at all!" Harry quickly ushered them to the kitchens, where there was a worn wood table that he and Draco often sat at to take their lunch. "The shop won't open for another hour or so. We have plenty of time for a chat, Mrs. Malfoy." Harry offered her a grin, his cheeks dimpling attractively. Draco swallowed. "It's very nice to see you again after this past year. You doing alright?"

Narcissa smiled, and if it was a bit tight, Harry did a great job of pretending not to notice. "We're doing well enough, Mr. Potter, thank you."

"Yeah, that's...that's great," Harry smiled awkwardly, fiddling with his apron nervously. "I'm really glad."

Narcissa glanced around the kitchens, taking everything in. "You've done something truly...productive with your time and money, Mr. Potter. I do recall, perhaps wrongly, that you previously had aspirations to be an Auror?" She left the question in the air, brow arched at him.

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "Er, yeah, that uh...didn't really work out. After everything that happened, you know, I was just tired, I guess. I didn't want to keep chasing after people for a living, or always looking over my shoulder. Having a dark lord hellbent on finishing me off was enough thrill for a lifetime."

Narcissa hummed softly, watching a copper baking sheet wash itself in the large sink. "Yes, I imagine that would've been an issue. I admit I was surprised to hear you had opened your own business, but it truly does suit you. It seems you're doing quite well for yourself."

"I like to think people come here because they like my baking, but it's probably because...well, you know. The name sells more than anything, I think." He shrugged again and scratched self-consciously at the back of his neck. The copper sheet finished drying and zoomed into a cupboard, nestling into its proper spot.

"Don't sell yourself short, Mr. Potter. I had the pleasure of trying some of your wares last night. They're delectable, if I do say so myself. You have a gift. It's very generous of you to share it with the world."

Harry blinked, a deep flush creeping from his cheeks down to his neck. "Er, thanks?"

Draco, who had been rather quiet up until that point, huffed a laugh. Narcissa shot him a small look that hushed him up immediately. "No need to thank me, Mr. Potter. Now, I'm afraid I must be going. It was very lovely to see you." She inclined her head gracefully and swept out of the kitchen before Harry could think to say anything in return.

Silence fell for a few long seconds, in which Harry blinked at the door and Draco stared pointedly at the refurbished table, mouth tight.

"You didn't tell your mother you got a job here?" Harry finally said weakly. The blonde's lips twisted sourly and he pinned Harry with a glare.

"No. I didn't want her to think you took me in out of _pity_," he spat. His whole body was tense, ready for a fight, and Harry quickly threw his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

"Whoa, where did that come from? I didn't take you in out of pity. I thought we were past this, Draco."

Draco sneered, but even Harry could tell his heart wasn't in it. The fight had already gone out of him, along with the tension from his mother's visit. "It's hard to admit to your mother that a boy you used to hate in school offered you a job at a fucking _bakery_ because no one else in the wizarding world would hire a Death Eater," he muttered softly. He looked so defeated at that moment that Harry wasn't sure he was still looking at Draco Malfoy.

"Well...it's not so bad, is it? You have to admit, being seen with me isn't exactly hurting your reputation any further," Harry ventured gently, which earned him a scowl.

"I wanted to earn it back on my own. I didn't want any help. The Malfoy name was ancient, had so much power and prestige. We've been one of the most powerful wizarding families in Europe for centuries. And my father, he squandered all of it in a handful few years, because he believed a psychopath could level us with the gods." Draco sighed, head in his hands, and Harry could think of nothing to say to that, so he reached over and awkwardly patted Draco's back.

"What in the devil are you doing?" Draco asked incredulously, voice muffled by his hands.

"Comforting you."

"Well, stop it."

-:-

If things went a little more smoothly between them after their little chat in the kitchens, neither one of them mentioned it, and in fact took great measures to pretend that was the way it had always been. Hermione kept leveling odd looks at Harry every chance she got after she saw them together again, her lips pursed in that frightening way they would do when she was on the verge of figuring out some huge secret. Harry took to avoiding looking her in the eye.

At home, Draco was experiencing his mother's version of the Granger Gaze, in which Narcissa would ask him pointed questions (about Harry) and raise a disappointed eyebrow at him when he gave her diplomatic answers in return. Draco wasn't quite sure what she was after, asking him so many questions about Harry, but he knew better than to give her any information she didn't need to know. His mother had a way of figuring out things he wasn't even aware of yet, a trait she and Granger seemed to share.

Both men were perfectly happy being so terribly dense that they hadn't noticed the subtle shift between them. It wasn't until a spectacularly dismal Tuesday morning that either one of them began to notice anything was different between them at all.

That particular Tuesday had dawned dreary and cold, it being well into October, and rain poured steadily from the blue-gray sky. Harry glanced up at the tinkling doorbell and was greeted by a thoroughly soaked and miserable Draco Malfoy.

"Draco! You're dripping on my floor!" Draco shot him a stare that could wither the wings off a hippogriph.

"I'm perfectly aware," Draco sniped, prowling behind the counter and heading towards the kitchen. Harry slid off the stool to follow him.

"Sorry, it's just...why didn't you use a Shield Charm to keep the rain off?" Harry asked, all the while staying out of arms reach of Draco.

"_Because_," the blonde hissed, "I _still_ have Ministry restrictions on my wand. Just one of those things, you know, about being a former Death Eater and having everyone suspect you'll attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord as soon as you're given the chance. Even something as fucking simple as a fucking Shield Charm could send him zooming back from the afterlife to finish his life's work, apparently!" He threw his hands into the air dramatically and collapsed into a chair with a loud squelch.

Harry blanched. He hadn't known the Ministry had restricted use of Draco's wand, though he really should have known. He'd never seen Draco use magic in the shop, not even a simple cleaning charm. He'd always done everything manually, or let Harry deal with the magic usage. He ordered around the enchanted cookware easily enough, but that didn't exactly require a wand to do; the cookware was just exceptionally good at following orders.

"Well," he began, still remaining well out of range of Draco's fists, "I didn't know about that part. But, er, you could've just used an umbrella too, you know. I have an extra if you'd like to borrow it."

Draco lifted his head to stare incredulously at Harry, mouth slightly open, and just when Harry thought Draco would lunge from the chair and throttle him, he started laughing. It was a deep laugh, straight from the belly, bordering on hysterical, that had him throwing his head back and laughing right at the ceiling and clutching at his sides.

In that moment, Harry couldn't help but notice how the wet strands of Draco's silver-blonde hair clung to his sharp cheekbones, and how wet and pink his lips looked, and and how his rain-soaked clothes clung to his lean, long body. Draco was beautiful just standing upright and breathing, but he was_ stunning_ when he laughed. Harry swallowed again, suddenly feeling very warm and very tingly in certain parts of his anatomy.

"Don't see how that was funny," Harry mumbled instead, trying not to think about running his hands along wet Draco's body, or through his rain-darkened hair. He marveled at how little the sudden realization that he found Draco incredibly attractive was bothering him. He could hardly bring himself to care that he suddenly wanted to mount his former enemy like a stallion.

Draco hiccuped a little, his laughter having died into giggles. "I just can't believe, after months and months of learning to live without magic, I couldn't think of something so Muggle and _practical _as a goddamn umbrella." Draco's eyes were starting to shine suspiciously, much to Harry's alarm.

"Er, it's fine, really. You've lived your whole life with magic to help. It's hard, isn't it, to go without?" he asked, rhetorically more than anything, but Draco snorted and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"What would you know about it, you ponce. _You_ don't have the Ministry breathing down your neck."

Harry smiled thinly. "Well, seeing as I lived the first eleven years of my life without even knowing magic was real, I'd say I know what it's like to live without it. And, I do actually know what it's like to have the Ministry breathing down your neck all the time."

Draco threw a half-hearted sneer at him. "That's different. They moon over you because they _adore_ you. I'm not worth the dirt on their feet. We're noticed for entirely different reasons."

"Yeah, sure," Harry conceded with a grimace. He also knew what it was like to have the Ministry despise him as well, but that was all in the past, and it was best not to open that can of worms. He still had nightmares about pink mewling kittens and blooming, sharp pains from dream quills scratching into his skin. He shuddered.

"Would you mind?" Draco's voice cut into his thoughts and he startled. Draco was clutching his still-soaked shirt and giving Harry a pointed look. It took Harry a few moments to put two and two together, as visions of silvery wet skin and sharp hip bones kept flashing in his mind's eye and distracting him.

"Oh! Of course!" He flushed an impressive shade of red and fumbled for his wand so he could cast a quick drying charm on Draco. His clothes settled back to their normal shape, perfectly dry, much to Harry's dismay, though the best part was watching Draco's hair puff out as it dried and then settle perfectly into place.

"Well, I'm going to get the front ready, then," Draco said smartly and swept out of the room.

Harry sighed forlornly. A lazy swish of his wand had the pots and utensils jumping to start their jobs for the day, and he then promptly lowered his forehead to the table with a muffled_ thunk_. A wooden spoon paused in its journey to mix a fresh bowl of brownie batter to pat him gently on the back.

"I'm in so much trouble," he lamented to the room. He received no answer from the much less sympathetic knives and ladles, so he plodded out to help Draco set up for the day.

-:-

Draco moodily tossed the dirty rag towards the kitchen sink, where it fell short of its goal by several feet and scooched the rest of the way to the blessed soapy water and threw itself in. Draco heaved a heavy sigh.

"You alright?" Harry asked tentatively and received a scowl in return.

"No. Today was _shit_."

"Because of Nott? Come on, Draco, he's a prick. He's not worth it." Draco shrugged, scowl still present.

"He always knew how to get under my skin. I hated the little worm in school...he's even worse now. I don't…_ugh_! I wanted to jump across the lemon tart and clock him right in his crooked little beak."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the mental image. He didn't have any lost love for Nott either, and to be frank, Draco's anger flushed his skin a very appealing pink that made Harry want to do something stupid.

"You know, I did that to him. His crooked nose? I actually did punch him in the face, our sixth year. He was making an absolute ass of himself and I just turned and smashed his nose in. Even Pomfrey couldn't quite get it to set back right. He never forgave me for that, but it's not like we were friends before that. Ass." The triumphant smirk slid off his face as he turned to look at Harry. "What?"

Harry realized he'd been staring with something like wolfish intent at Draco and quickly looked down. "Er, nothing. I always wondered about that...his nose wasn't always so off-center."

"I had enough to deal with that year without him breathing down my neck about what I was doing," Draco muttered, then froze. Harry realized, then, what Draco was referring to, but he wasn't angry, or upset, or anything at all. Silence fell between them, thick and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, you know," he said eventually. Draco's brow furrowed.

"For what?"

"For…" He made the slashing motion across his chest and Draco looked away, face tight. "That wasn't right. I didn't even know what that spell did, before I cast it. I could have killed you." _I almost did._

"It's in the past, Potter. We all made mistakes that we can't take back."

Harry thought immediately of Sirius, falling through the veil. Trying to throw a _Crucio _at Bellatrix. Letting Cedric touch the cup. Watching Dumbledore fall from the tower. Hitting Draco with a curse that had come dangerously close to slitting his throat. He clenched his eyes shut, hoping to shake the sudden downpour of mistakes and mishaps and everything that had just gone _wrong_. When Harry opened his eyes again, it was to Draco watching him with a knowing glint in his eye. Draco, he realized, probably did this every day. His mistakes and wrongs probably ran through his head daily, non-stop, until they defined his every waking hour. Until Draco himself probably felt like a mistake himself. He even had a lovely visible reminder of it all. Harry could just see the tip of the tattoo on his forearm, where his sleeves were pushed up just so.

"Draco...I'm…"

"Don't say you're sorry," Draco said quietly, his face turned to stone. "Just...don't. I may have royally fucked up my life, but they were my own choices and now I'm living with the consequences. It's nothing less than I deserve."

Harry frowned. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that...that I'm glad you're here, now." He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling quite nervous, as he'd never been good at talking about any sort of feelings.

A small crease formed between Draco's eyebrows, marring the skin. "Why?"

"Um, because...it's nice being friends with you. At least, I feel like we're friends. Becoming friends. And that this is one of the only things that have felt right in my life since everything ended. You, and the shop," he clarified. He carefully avoided Draco's eyes. Draco, who was silent for too long, and giving Harry heart palpitations.

"That's disgustingly emotional, Harry. I ought to forbid such things in my presence." Harry laughed despite himself. He had long since become used to Draco's snide and thorny remarks to any remotely serious conversation. He knew a defense mechanism when he saw one. "You're not going to start batting your eyelashes at me in front of the customers, are you?"

"I could, if you're into that," Harry said genially, still laughing. Draco wasn't laughing, but there was a tiny, glittering smile lighting up his lips and his cheeks had gone pink. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen someone so lovely before. Before he could help it, or think through his actions, or anything else remotely rational, he surged out of his chair, crossed the room and had caught Draco's lips with his own.

The other man stiffened under Harry's lips. He didn't move for several seconds, during which Harry also didn't move whilst simultaneously second-guessing his decision. They stood awkwardly for too long of a moment, lips mashed together, but Harry refused to pull away.

Finally, fucking _finally_, Draco began to relax and press his lips back against Harry's. The gesture was so uncertain and hesitant that Harry almost pulled away so he could look Draco in the eyes, but something told him not to. Something told him to gently cup Draco's face with his hands instead, and slot their mouths together a little more comfortably, and to keep kissing him.

It was Draco who eventually pulled away to stare wide-eyed at Harry, his grey eyes blown with something like panic. "Harry-"

Harry kissed him again, quickly, cutting him off, and when he pulled away Draco's panicked look was replaced with ire. _Much better_, Harry thought. He could deal with that much more easily than panic. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

"Oh, ages, have you? If you're going to shut me up by kissing me every time now I don't think I'll be letting you kiss me very much at all," Draco sniffed, but the strange glint in his eye told Harry that he hadn't minded the kiss. Far from it. "But, if you're going to insist, then...I suppose I wouldn't mind a few more." His face had grown quite flushed, and he couldn't quite meet Harry's eye, and Harry thought Draco was awfully endearing at that moment. He smiled broadly and swooped in for another, longer, deeper kiss, which Draco returned enthusiastically.

"Wait 'til you tell your mother about this," Harry laughed as he pulled away from Draco. He received a sharply raised brow in return.

"Yes, but _you_ have to tell Weasley."

"Ah, shit."

-:-

The fallout, Harry mused as he trailed his fingers up Draco's smooth body, hadn't been so terrible.

Ron had just shaken his head, stood up and left the room, muttering about having to deal with 'Malfoy at Christmas,' while Hermione had just given him a smug look that made Harry want to follow Ron out of the room. Ron had eventually found Harry again and clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well, I'm not the one who has to see him naked, so it's not so bad. Good luck with all that, mate."

It was definitely better than he had hoped for.

He'd asked Draco what his mother had said, but his boyfriend had just shot him a dark glare. "Don't you dare ask," he'd snapped. "If you stick around long enough to find out you'll have to deal with her _looks_ too."

"Are they as bad as Hermione's?"

"Worse."

Harry grimaced at the thought, tickling Draco's skin with his fingernails so that it pebbled up under his hands. His fingers brushed over the long, puckered scar that crossed Draco's chest and the man hitched a sharp breath, nearly pulling away, but Harry pulled him back and continued his explorations of Draco's body.

He glanced up, finding those soft silvery eyes staring back at him with something gentle in their depths that made Harry's chest clench. A smile tugged at Draco's pale lips and he reached up a slender hand to brush against Harry's own stubbled cheeks and strong jaw. Their bodies were such a sharp contrast to each other, and Harry never got tired of blending their bodies together. His darker skin complimented Draco's luminous skin so beautifully that he wondered if they were always meant to end up tied together this way.

"If you're just going to stare, Potter, you might as well make yourself useful while you do it," Draco murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice being music to Harry's ears. He grinned.

"As you wish," he whispered against Draco's hip, causing the man to shiver delightfully.

It was already their third time that night, a night they'd both called off work early to take some much-needed time for themselves (mainly, upon reflection, to spend as much time screwing as possible). Harry pushed Draco back, folded his legs towards his chest and slid in smoothly, Draco's breath hitching in a sharp gasp that bellied out into a groan. Their love-making had already quieted from its previous frenzy into a slow, smooth rhythm that had Draco muttering Harry's name against the skin of his neck and breathing harshly with each thrust, deeper and deeper, while Harry's hands roamed over smooth skin and cupped Draco's ass and spread sturdy fingers through silky blonde hair and gripped strong thighs in stronger hands. Draco's tight heat was so welcoming, so soothing, that Harry never wanted to leave. His thrusts were deliberately slow, driving his lover into a steady frenzy until he was gasping beneath Harry. He was beautiful, Harry decided, as those slender hands roamed up his face and found his thick, unruly hair and clutched. Oh, yes, he could get used to this. The touches never ceased, the soft moans and deep breathing continuous and flowing, even as Harry came deep inside of Draco and wrapped his hand around his lover's cock to finish him.

Nothing had ever felt quite so right for him, not even opening the bakery, than holding Draco in the aftermath of sex. Everything else had just culminated to this exact point, where happiness bloomed from Harry's chest throughout his body. He finally felt right, and wanted, and more like _Harry_ than he'd ever felt in his entire life. He sighed contentedly and pressed a firm kiss to a dozing Draco's hair before curling into that warmth and tucking his face into Draco's neck, and breathed in, and smiled.


End file.
